The Boy Scouts' Mountain Camp

“He entered the bank to give dad a surprise, leaving his daughter outside for a few minutes, in the machine. She became interested in its mechanism and pulled a lever, and – the machine darted off. And – and that’s all,” he concluded modestly.

“Except that the leader of the Eagles covered himself with laurels,” struck in Bob – or Tubby – Hopkins, another member of the Eagles.

“Better than being covered with fat,” parried Rob, who didn’t relish this open praise.

“Three cheers for Rob Blake!” yelled Fylan Fobbs, a town character.

“Hip! hip! hooray!”

The cheers rang out with vim, the voices of the young scouts sounding shrill and clear among them, giving the patrol call:

“Kree-ee-ee-e!”

Rob, coloring and looking embarrassed, made his way off while the enthusiasm was at its height. With him went Merritt Crawford, Tubby Hopkins and tall, lanky Hiram Nelson, the New England lad, who had already gained quite a reputation as a wireless operator and mechanical genius of the all-round variety.

“Reckon that was a right smart piece of work,” drawled Hiram in his nasal accents, as the four of them trudged along.

“Al-ice, where art thou?” hummed Tubby teasingly, with a sharp glance at Rob. “Say, what a romance for the newspapers: Gallant Boy Scout rescues bee-yoot-i-ful girl at risk of his life, and – ”

He got no further. The tormented Rob grabbed the rotund youth and twisted his arm till Tubby yelled for mercy. With a good-natured laugh, Rob released him.

“Bet-ter sue him for damages, if he’s broke your arm,” grinned the practical-minded Hiram, in consolatory tones.

“No, thanks; I’ve got damages enough, as the fellow said who’d been busted up in a railroad accident and was asked if he intended to sue,” laughingly rejoined Tubby; “but” – and he dodged to a safe distance – “that was a mighty pretty girl.”

As he spoke, they were passing by the railroad station. A train had just pulled out of it, depositing two passengers on the platform. But none of the boys noticed them at the moment. Instead, their attention was attracted by the strange action of Merritt, who suddenly darted to the center of the roadway.

The next instant his action was explained, as he bent and seized a big leather wallet that lay there. Or, rather, he was just about to seize it, when one of the two men who had alighted from the train also dashed from the small depot, in front of which they had been standing.

He was a broad-shouldered, rough-looking fellow, with a coarse beard and hulking shoulders. His clothes were rather poor.

“What you got there, boy?” he demanded, as the other Boy Scouts and his own companion came up.

“A wallet,” said Merritt, examining his find; “it’s marked ‘R. D. – U. S. A.’”

A strange light came into the rough-looking man’s eyes. His comrade, too, appeared agitated, and gripped the bearded fellow’s arm, whispering something to him.

“Let’s have a look at that wallet, young chap,” quoth the bigger of the two strangers, almost simultaneously.

“I don’t know that I will,” rejoined Merritt; “it’s lost property, and may contain valuables. I had better turn it over to the proper authorities.”

But the rough stranger, without ceremony, made a snatch for it. Merritt, however, was too quick for him, and the fellow missed his grasp. He growled something, and then, apparently thinking the better of his ill-temper, said in a comparatively mild voice:

“Guess that’s my wallet, boy. I must have dropped it coming across the street. My name’s Roger Dangerfield, Major Roger Dangerfield, of the United States Army, retired.”

“Then there must be two of them,” exclaimed Rob sharply.

“How’s that? What are you interfering for?” growled the rough-looking man, while his companion – a much younger individual than himself, though quite as ill-favored – edged menacingly up.

“Because,” said Rob quietly, “I had the pleasure of talking to Major Dangerfield a few minutes ago. Moreover, there’s no doubt in my mind that the wallet is his. He probably dropped it on the way up the street.”

The bigger and elder of the two strangers looked nonplussed for an instant, but he speedily recovered himself. Making a snatch for the wallet, which Merritt for an instant had allowed to show from behind his back, he upset the lad by the sheer weight of his attack. Flat on his back fell Merritt, the bearded man toppling over on top of him.

But, as they fell, the Boy Scout’s assailant seized the wallet from him and tossed it hastily to his companion, as one might pass a football. This action was unnoticed by the Boy Scouts, and the younger man of the two strangers darted off instantly, with the pocketbook in his possession.

In the meantime, Merritt, by a wrestling trick, had glided from under the bearded fellow, and, despite his struggles, the man found himself held in the firm grip of four determined pairs of young arms. He was remarkably strong, however, and the situation speedily assumed the likeness of an uneven contest, when another detachment of the Eagles, headed by little Andy Bowles, the bugler of the Patrol, came up the street on their way from the exciting scene on the wharf.

Aided by these reënforcements, the man was compelled, despite his strength, to give in. All about him surged his excited young captors. At this moment an individual came hurrying up. He wore a semi-official sort of dress, adorned with a tin badge as big and shiny as a new tin pie-plate. It was Si Ketchum, the village constable.

“Hoppin’ watermillions!” he gasped, “what’s all this here?”

It took only a few words to tell him. Si assumed his most terrific official look, which consisted of partially closing his little reddish eyes and screwing up his mouth till his gray goatee pointed outward horizontally.

“Ef so be as you’ve got that thar contraption uv a wallet, in ther name uv ther law I commands yer to surrender said property,” he ordered ponderously.

The bearded man, still panting from his struggle, rejoined with a grin.

“Surely you’re not going to believe a pack of irresponsible boys, constable. I know nothing about the wallet, except that I saw that lad there pick it up.”

“Um – hah,” said Si, wagging his head sagely, “go on.”

“Naturally, I was anxious to see what it was. I demanded to have a look at it, thinking it might be some of my property that I had dropped. What was my astonishment, when this young ruffian attacked me. In self-defense, I resisted, and then they all set on me.”

“That story is a fabrication from start to finish,” cried Merritt, while the others shouted their angry confirmation of his denial. “Let me – ”

For the second time he was about to relate the true circumstances. But Si interrupted him.

“Only one way ter settle this,” he said.

“Any way you like, officer,” said the bearded man suavely, “anything that you say, I’ll agree to.”

“Air yer willin’ ter be searched?”

“Certainly. But not here in the public street.”

“All right, then; at the calaboose, ef that’ll suit yer better.”

“It will. Let’s proceed there,” said the man, with a sidelong look at the boys, who began to wonder at his assurance.

Followed by a small crowd, Si and his prisoner led the way to the “calaboose,” a small, red-brick structure on a side street not far from the station. The boys waited eagerly outside, while within the walls of Si’s fortress the search went on. Before long, the constable emerged with an angry face, and very red. The stranger, cool and smiling, was beside him.

“What kind uv an April fool joke is this?” demanded Si loudly, while the boys, and the townspeople, who had been attracted by curiosity, looked at him in astonishment.

“You boys ain’t tole me the truth,” he went on, waxing more furious.

“You – you haven’t found the wallet?” demanded Merritt. “Why, I distinctly felt him snatch it from my hand.”

“Wall, it ain’t on him.”